


Day & Night

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash), UltimateFandomTrash



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Apollo can't actually consent, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, I'm unfortunately not a demi-god, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, and dub-con is non-con, and since Apollo will be Commodus' slave in this, but please don't, fight me, so it is non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 01:03:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19801504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/UltimateFandomTrash
Summary: Apollo is cast from Olympus, and becomes enslaved by a mortal — Commodus. He is taken with the princeps despite his cruelty and becomes embroiled in a dangerous relationship. The only way to regain his immortality and his throne is through the hardships that ensue, but Commodus likes his new slave a little too much.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Despite the awesome summary this isn't going to be a really long story. I'm mostly writing it to write some Apollo and Commodus smut, which seems to be severely lacking. But their interactions are also just incredibly interesting. Apollo will be at times consenting to having sex with Commodus, but since he is his slave, it can't be looked upon as true consent, hence the warnings.
> 
> Comments would be appreciated!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I fall in_ mauris _,_
> 
> _I woo the men at bathtime,_
> 
> _Commodus not nice_

**I FELL.** It was spectacular. You should’ve seen it. (If you like seeing sun gods plummet from the sky at high noon at a million miles an hour.) The screeching sound was a product of _air resistance_ , no matter what Artemis will tell you. I did not scream. Nope. My throat was aching for an entirely different reason—immense despair, perhaps.

I, _Apollo_ , had just been made mortal for the second time in my supposed-to-be immortal life, and I’d landed… (would you like to guess?) in mud. I hoped it was mud. There was a foul smell emanating from somewhere—not me—and there were tons of tracks that had indented and trampled the ground, those of men and horses. A Roman legion had passed through here.

Maybe I wasn’t far behind them! Maybe I could seek shelter and they would clean me, perhaps restore me to my godly visage. Of course, for that to happen I’d have to become enslaved.

“What a pathetic rule,” I grumbled as I picked myself up out of the “mud” and began brushing myself off.

You see, I could only seek favor in the eyes of my father, Zeus, if I served my time on Earth as some mortal’s slave. Surely in a few days I’d be riding my sun chariot again, feeding my steeds molten magma straight from my hand.

What had I done to instill the wrath of the great god Zeus, you may ask?

For the life of me (and I had a long life) I could not remember. (Maybe I’d hit my head on one too many birds on the way down.)

No matter. Time to find some mortals to clean and worship me, and hopefully someone would be kind enough to take me in. Besides, last I’d heard, the princeps, son of Marcus Aurelius, was leading his forces this way. (I’d gotten the information from Hermes, but don’t tell him I told you. He can be annoying when he finds out someone _actually_ listened to him for once. Such an attention whore.)

Ugh, _walking_. I missed my sun chariot, and at the moment I was starting to hate the sun, which was odd for me. The rays of light were baking the uh… mud to my golden skin, and I was sticky, and gross.

I was in no state to walk in there, hands on my hips, declaring, _Behold, lowly mortals! It is I, Lord Apollo!_ At this rate I’d be better off bowing my head and mumbling something about the nearest stream to go throw myself into.

Oh no, what if they laughed?

Surely Zeus was laughing, him and all the other Olympians.

_Oh, look at Apollo! He’s filthy. No one can see how attractive he is._

I tripped.

More imaginary laughter sounded in my head. Artemis, in the form of a twelve year old girl, fell out of her seat.

_Look at me, so regal and god-like,_ I mocked. I’d been flying the sun across the sky, and now this.

The Roman wilderness wouldn’t have been too terrible had it not been walked through by five-thousand men. They’d tramped the vegetation, churned up the dirt, the gravel, and evidently it had rained and my godly prowess had failed to dry up the insulting weather. But rain wasn’t really my expertise, no matter how many people thought it was.

By the time I made it to the Roman camp the sun was low in the sky, but not yet streaking the blue with colors of pink, yellow, and orange. No. It was that depressing gray. Yes, mourn for me, mourn for the loss of Apollo’s godly greatness!

I was stopped by praetorian guards upon my arrival at the sprawling camp, which was only confirmation of the princeps' location.

The others gods gossiped sometimes, and I had heard this particular princeps was a sight to behold: muscular, face sculpted to near-perfection, teeth that didn’t require care from Olympus’ DAHLIA DRYAD’S DENTAL. (Yes, we gods had dental care already. We borrowed it from Egypt.) I idly wondered why Zeus hadn’t made him a minor god yet. Or perhaps that was Jupiter’s area of expertise.

The guards wanted to tie me to a pole in their tent meant for prisoners. (Rude, I know.) I cleverly convinced them otherwise by yelling out my true identity. I was led to see the princeps.

“Remus, why are you bothering me?” a young man asked once I’d entered his red and gold tent at the center of camp. “And what is that vile smell? Have you stepped in _mauris_ again?"

There were braziers in the tent, rugs, pillows, a couch, a cot with furs, and a desk, but none of that mattered when the princeps turned, cape flowing dramatically about him to frame his regal stature. I was immediately taken with him. He had dark curls upon his perfect head that brought out his penetrating blue eyes, and a scruff of a beard was on his face. He was young, eighteen or so, but he had the physique of a son of Aphrodite and the face to match. (How was it he was not one of hers? Amazing what humans could create sometimes.)

The other guard, whose name I had not learned, answered, “We took a prisoner at the edge of camp. He—he claims to be Apollo.”

“Apollo,” the princeps scoffed.

He had been relaxing, was not in his gold armor like his guards, but did not seem underdressed with so much smooth, oiled skin showing. After all, gods never seemed underdressed while naked. There was a reason we often went without clothes. (That, and some Roman fashion was dreadful.)

He came forward, wrinkling his nose as he examined me, and I was forever grateful to my terrible father that I’d kept my godly form, that underneath this muck I still had eight-pack abs, and muscular everything—a body men and women had killed for. I was grateful I stared down a man whose height I was equal to, that my face was perfect, whereas he had a few scars and the blemishes of youth.

Something flashed in his eyes, and he ordered, “Get him cleaned up. Then I will see what kind of work he’s good for. Who knows, maybe this _Apollo_ is entertaining.”

I wasn’t too sure I liked the way he said that, or maybe I had—something akin to both anxiety, and excitement was bubbling in my stomach, trailing lower. I raised my head, unashamed at my position, letting the princeps know that despite my mortal state I was better than him, better than all of them.

He praetorian guards bowed, and Remus spoke, “As you wish, Lord Commodus.”

Commodus smiled.

Was the bath undignified? I dare not say. Many men came to talk outside the tent, and I chose to believe it was my divine beauty. They were either jealous, or wishing for a good bit of fun with me. None of them seemed musically inclined enough for my taste, but perhaps if I had a bit to drink and one started singing… I might just change my mind.

I was put in only a loincloth after the bath, which brought lots of curious eyes, gawking, whispering, and yells from centurions for the legionnaires to resume their duties within camp. I was even distracting some from guard duty. (Not that I cared if some barbarians attacked and a few lives were lost. I was _clean_ , and _mauris_ really did smell awful.)

Different guards than the ones from earlier escorted me to Commodus’ lavish tent. He was without his cape, similarly in a loincloth, but covering much more, and lounging on the couch, one leg thrown over the arm rest. I couldn’t help myself, and found my eyes traveling up from his foot, his calf, to the wonderful thickness of his thigh, before it disappeared under his clothing. My mouth made extra saliva as if I was hungry. (Which I was.)

I was thirsty too, but that could wait.

“Leave us,” he ordered the guards with a wave of his hand. They did so, and then he said to me, “Step closer.”

I wanted to defy him, but there was an edge in his blue eyes, a dangerous glint that told me he liked getting what he wanted. So I listened.

Commodus was up off the couch, circling me, eyes searching my body, and I held my head high.

“So you’re Apollo, god of the sun.”

“And music, archery, and healing,” I added, a bite in my tone, letting him know he wasn’t the only powerful one in this camp.

“Show me.”

With a clap of his hands three slavegirls in scandalously low-cut dresses were entering the tent, and he ordered them, “Bring me a lute, and a bow and arrow, and one of you stay here.”

I eyed him intently, brow furrowed, wondering exactly what he had planned. One woman—a dark-haired, gray-eyed beauty—stayed, and Commodus pulled her close. The other two left. In a matter of minutes they returned with what he’d requested. I was handed the bow and arrow once Commodus indicated it wasn’t for him.

“Now, Livia, go stand over there.” He pointed off to his right, and she blinked tears out of her eyes.

I knew his plans now, and I found them slightly distasteful, but, needing a master and wanting it to be Commodus, I said nothing.

“Go on.” He slapped her backside, and she shuffled over to the right of him.

“Apollo, shoot.”

“She’s an easy target, my lord,” I argued.

It was true. A beginner could hit her on at least the third try.

He huffed. “Fine. Can you control the arrow once you shoot it?”

“In a way. I—”

“Do it. Aim it at me, but shoot her. Let us make this interesting. Oh, and don’t kill her.” Commodus smiled fondly at her. “I quite like her eyes. They are gorgeous, wouldn’t you say? Like the sea after a storm.”

“Most agreed.”

Nervous, sweat beading on my neck, I checked the tautness of the bowstring, and nocked the arrow. Commodus beamed at me. Livia was crying, shaking, the other slaves began to pray.

_Apollo, please save her!_

_Oh, great Lord Apollo, she has done you no wrong!_

_Apollo, thy greatest and fairest god, please!_

_Apollo!_

The praise brought a half-grin to my face. I made my connection with the arrow, focused on Livia, and fired. (Don’t look at me like that. I’m a god. Humans are meant for this sort of entertainment every once in a while. You should know. Why do you think Aphrodite created heartbreak?)

Livia screamed, the arrow going through her shin, missing her bone, and angling out through her calf. The other slaves ran to her side as she collapsed, bleeding on the rugs.

Would I feel pain like that?

Somehow, part of me felt wrong.

“Excellent!” Commodus was clapping. “Now heal her.”

I placed the bow down reverently, as all bows deserved proper care and respect (I’d invented them, after all), and rushed to her side.

Livia was whimpering, and sobbing, tears streaking her face. She snarled at me. I promptly ignored it, knowing most humans were fussy about injuries, and pulled the arrow free. This elicited a scream from her, and her face turned green as she started shaking. I placed my hands on her leg.

In a matter of moments she was healed.

Thank Zeus for letting me keep my godly powers this time.

Last time…

I shuddered.

_No, Apollo! No, Apollo!_ I sang at myself in a discordant minor fifth, which sounded _terrible_. (Too much of my focus was on Livia. I’m not good at multi-tasking as a mortal. You try stitching someone’s flesh back together while singing yourself out of a panic. Go on! Yeah, I thought so.)

Commodus was impressed with my skills. He knelt down to run his hand over Livia’s healed-but-bloody leg when I drew away.

“Are you experiencing any pain?”

“N-no.”

“Amazing! And now for some music!”

So I sang, playing the lute, weeping at getting blood on its strings.

My audience did likewise, but it was at my skill.

I sang of this day, this night, of _How could Zeus do this to me?_ I was a god. But for now, mortal. I sang of mortality, of death, and I sang of my inevitable enslavement.

No one clapped at the end, no one bowed, no one cheered, _Oh, Lord Apollo, that was wonderful! Please, more!_

They sat in stunned silence, tears drying on their cheeks.

Eventually, Commodus rose, deep blue eyes glistening, and he fell to one knee. The slaves did the same.

“We are honored by your presence, Apollo.”

I expected the princeps to follow up with, _Tell me how I may serve you_ , but he lifted his head, stared me down, a fire in him, and I knew I had found someone to challenge the light in me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I deserve respect_
> 
> _Sex slavery, wow, that’s new_
> 
> _Oh, sex, sex, sex, yeah..._

**_APOLLO, WHY HIM?_** you may ask. Why the powerful, beautiful princeps with a hunger for great spectacle, and eyes that kept roaming my body?

Well, it’s not my fault that he’s so hot! (And I made sure, I did _not_ sire this one; my memory was not failing me.)

The slavegirls left, glares directed at my back despite how I’d just charmed them with my voice.

Commodus rose, and he poured two glasses of wine. “Tell me, what brings you to me?”

I took the goblet he offered me, slightly irked that he had not poured mine first, and I spread myself out on the pillows on the floor. I had Commodus’ pleased, self-assured gaze.

I told him my tale, of being cast from Olympus, made mortal until I served my time as a slave, and then I would regain my throne in the golden halls of my father. (Though, I still had my powers, so I must not have done something too atrocious this time, and I was sure I hadn’t killed any Cyclopes.)

“You do not strike me as a slave.”

“I have been one before,” I told him.

He smiled, delighted.

“Only once,” I added. “To a demi-god, a son of Hephaestus. He was _dreadful_. Always had me running back and forth, trying to teach me to blacksmith.”

“Well, you’ll be doing no such things for me.”

“Uh, that’s not quite how it works. You have to declare it, and then I am bound to—”

Commodus stood, golden skin gleaming in the light cast by the braziers, power in his eyes as he stared down at me. I almost dropped my goblet of wine. (Was it hot in here, or was it just me? No, that joke never gets old. I invented it.)

“Apollo, I, Lucius Aurelius Commodus, son of Marcus Aurelius, hereby claim you as my slave, to do my will and follow my word until your immortality be restored. May you serve me well.”

My chest constricted like a giant fist had decided now was a good time to crush my heart, and our connection crackled between us. The coals in the braziers popped and snapped. A hot wind blew through the tent, ruffling our clothes and immaculate hair, and I was sure I felt our bond as a sweet caress made with fingers of hard, iron strength.

I nearly pitched forward, something very un-godly, and caught myself.

“I suppose you’ll want to eat,” my new master said to me.

I nodded.

“I’ll have food brought for you.”

Dinner was grapes, cheese, and wild boar. (What a bore. Bad pun? Okay.)

I ended up throwing the grapes at his wonderfully sculpted nose, trying to see how much he’d let me get away with, and the princeps laughed, trying to catch them in his mouth. He was not the frightening young man of earlier who had requested I shoot a woman for entertainment. He was an eighteen year old simply enjoying himself, and he seemed to have forgotten his place.

I purposefully mis-aimed, hitting his glorious upper lip, and he spat in surprise, batting an arm.

“Enough.”

It wasn’t a direct order, so I was free to throw another.

“Apollo, stop it.”

All of me could no longer throw grapes at him, my body frozen, my will and intent backing away at the idea. I had been holding a grape, but now I popped it into my mouth and started chewing. Commodus’ eyes flashed with pleasure and a dangerous curiosity I’d often seen in Ares when he created new war tactics for the humans to try on each other.

“Throw another one. Get it in my mouth.”

He held his mouth open.

I did so, and the grape went in.

“Splendid! Now talk to me about your sister.”

I rolled my eyes, words falling from my lips, “Artemis likes to say she was born first, but we were born at the same time, and she has sworn off romance, and looks like a cross between a—”

“Quiet.”

The rest of the sentence was swallowed down my throat.

Commodus was off the couch now, joining me on the pillows, cupping my face in his hand and studying me. A tingle ran through my skin at the contact, and my breathing grew heavy.

“Tell me, is some greater power doing this?”

“Yes,” I answered.

I would have told him the truth anyway. Commodus did not scare me. This young man fascinated me, and truly, at this moment all I wanted to do was kiss him. I hadn’t kissed anyone since that night a few months ago with a water nymph, and chasing Britomartis for a kiss and falling into all her traps just wasn’t the same.

I surprised him and made the first move, leaning up into him and grabbing his hair to pull him down to me. He tasted of grapes and red wine, the flavors a languid sweetness against my tongue. Commodus must have liked this because he didn’t pull back, didn’t order me to stop. In fact, he leaned into me and opened his mouth a tad, running a hand into my hair, the other one going to my back, pulling me close.

Oh, wow, he was pressing me against him, and he felt _nice_. He was a large man, and while my tastes varied greatly, I was quite in the mood for someone like him. The longer we kissed, I realized I was in the mood for lots of things, particularly things that involved neither of us having clothes. God, I’m so glad the Romans had a surplus of oil. It was useful for so many things, and the way we were kissing we were going to need it… for other things. Not our lips, our lips were fine. (Look, reader, if you don’t know by now what is going to happen, I, the god Apollo, beg you to stop. No, I will not be sparing you the details. I’m allowed to have sex with whom I please.)

Commodus pulled away from me, saliva connecting us for a bit, and there was a darkness in his eyes, drowning me out.

“Have you ever kissed a man before?” I asked.

“Oh, plenty.”

“Good. I expect to kiss you a lot.”

“Do you usually do this sort of thing?”

I threw my head back and laughed, and he started placing kisses on my neck, sending trails of heat down in between my legs.

“Oh, dear Commodus, I visit Earth for its many pleasures, including those of the sensual kind. I have many, _many_ children.”

He looked up at me, seemingly having forgotten I was a god, and there was a fear in his eyes, a smallness there. I saw my chance to overcome him, and I took it, getting my leg over him, and rolling so that I was on top of him, straddling his wonderful body, our pelvis’ pressed together. Commodus was already hard and wanting for me.

“So am I just another lover to you?”

“Perhaps. But you’re also my master.”

“Then kiss me.”

I had no choice. I had to do it, whether I wanted to or not. I wanted to, believe me, I did, but what if there were times when I didn’t want to? I decided to not think about it since I didn’t have time to and brought my lips to his. Commodus moaned into me, hips thrusting upwards, and I ground down against him, feeling pressure in between my legs. My loincloth was really not hiding much now, and I felt my stomach flip with excitement.

Artemis had once chastised me about sex being boring and repetitive, but gods, no, it was about the person you were having sex with, the connection. But to each their own. 

Touching Commodus was like fire and electricity, and my nerves were singing, and my command had let up because now I was allowed to do what I wished, and I was kissing my way down his body.

Commodus, ever the warrior I’d heard about, grabbed me, and brought me back up to him, growling, not done with my mouth yet.

“You could have said something,” I told him.

“On your knees.”

I whimpered, achingly hard now, but I had no choice but to get off of him, and get on my knees before him.

I was panting before the princeps, mouth open, tilting my head back to gaze in wonder upon him, pupils surely huge with lust, as he circled me.

“The great Apollo,” he said, voice rough, gravelly. A shiver ran through me. “My slave. What should I have you do next? Suck my cock? You do have such a gorgeous mouth, but then I wouldn’t get to hear that succulent voice of yours.” He got on his knees before me, caressing my face, thumb running over my bottom lip.

I suggested, “Perhaps I could fuck the princeps, if it would please him.”

“Oh, Apollo, what about the foreplay?”

Gods, I wasn’t even thinking about foreplay. I just wanted to be _in him_. ( _But, Apollo_ , you may be wondering, _isn’t foreplay important?_ Not really for gods. If we want we can just will ourselves to be acceptably turned on. It’s amazing. Unfortunately, there’s not an off switch.)

“Surely you’re creative,” I moaned, hips thrusting forward, searching for him. Commodus pulled back, teasing me.

His lips found mine once more, his tongue entering me, exploring, and I opened my mouth wide, trying to inhale him. Commodus ran his hands over my body, and I did likewise, marveling had how perfect a specimen he was, at how very human he was, but so… god-like. His skin was warm, nipples hard, erection pressing against my hip, so close to my own.

“On your back,” he ordered, panting.

I promptly laid down for him, and my loincloth was discarded. The princeps grinned at my size—I don’t mean to brag, but I am a god after all, so it is quite a nice size.

“Let me suck you.”

Oh gods, now I was really going to have to do this. There would be no attempt at me pulling away either, or tugging him off of me. No matter. I’m sure he was fine. The princeps had probably had a cock in his mouth before. The worst he could do was bite it, and I’d taken an arrow to it from Artemis before, so I could handle this. But my stomach swirled with anxiety for some reason, a discomfort that I couldn’t place.

Commodus pumped me a few times, precum leaking from my slit, my cock throbbing in his strong, confident grip—oh, the princeps had certainly done this before—and then his mouth was on me. I arched up into him, my eyes rolling back in my head, and I grabbed hold of him, one of my hands in his soft curls. Oh, _yes_. His mouth was hot, and wet, and so… so… I was the god of poetry, but I couldn’t find a word to describe it.

So… divine.

Yes, divine.

He licked, and sucked, and he stroked the base of me, and he even cradled and caressed and squeezed my balls, and I moaned into the air, hitting a middle C, adding a bit of a growl to it straight from my chest.

And the entire time I could not fuck his mouth like I wanted to. That command: _Let me suck you_.

There was nothing about me thrusting into him, nothing about me taking control. The word choice was purely subservient, and I couldn’t seem to find any loopholes. I was breathing hard, sweating, lifting myself up on my elbows to watch him work, then tilting my head back when he did just the right thing with his tongue.

Eventually, the princeps seemed content with his work, and he was rolling to reach a wooden chest, rifling through it. While he did that I playfully spanked him. I expected laughter, as some of my previous lovers would have found this amusing, but he let out a snarl. It sent a spark through my spine.

I tugged his loincloth off, and he passed me his supply of oil.

“Handy having it so close,” I commented.

“I like to pleasure myself,” he admitted.

“Always good.”

Commodus was lying on his stomach now, body completely relaxed.

“You’ve done this before?” I asked him.

“Twice.”

“I’ll go easy on you.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to.” He looked back at me, a glint in his eyes, pupils huge, eyes dark.

I got some of the oil on my fingers and worked on opening Commodus up, but pleasuring him at the same time. His body was pliable to my touch, and the sounds leaving his mouth had me groaning with uninhibited desire.

I sensed a vulnerability in him amidst the darkness, this need for a show, but there was an anger, a desire to give in and let it take him, and I complied, turning him onto his back, and lifting his legs up so I could penetrate him. I went slowly, not wanting to hurt him, but he begged me to. He then commanded it.

I had no choice.

Commodus was a dangerous man.

He clawed my back, drawing blood, as I fucked into his wondrous body, as I felt him hot around me, gripping my cock like he was made for me. (Yes, I tell all the ladies and gents they were made for me. Shut it.)

I felt the command calling upon my godly strength till he was holding me to him with his arms and legs, bruising me, and I was bruising him, and the both of us were crying out, lips close together. Thank the gods that he reached his end first. I will never say that I am one who doesn’t last long, even in mortal form. (Imagine how embarrassing it would have been for me, a _god_ , to finish first.)

He finished across our stomachs, spurting white, shuddering, groaning, and I kissed him.

My command finished since I had successfully fucked him to completion, I pulled out of him once he’d come down from his high, and I waited, nearly whining with how badly I ached to see if he had any other commands for me. (That, and I liked to listen to my lovers. I wouldn’t just finish with my hand if he didn’t want me to. Perhaps Commodus had another idea.)

Breathing hard, Commodus got on all fours, crawling over to me, and took my cock in one powerful hand.

“Stay kneeling.”

And so he was attentive to my body, praising me, roughly pumping my cock, feeling over my muscles, kissing me, sucking at my skin, even licking and biting, and then I was reaching my end. And still Commodus touched me.

I leaned my head against his shoulders, hips arching away from him, screaming, and drawing blood from his shoulder blades with my nails. Too much sensation bombarded me in between my legs, gnawing on my nerves. It was like fifty choirs had crescendoed at the same time, and they’d all decided to blast the notes instead of listening to the conductors. The sensations were elevated, past pleasure, into hurting. It was as if the princeps was milking my throbbing, twitching cock for me, or maybe he was trying to hurt me. He held me to him, growling in my ear, biting, seemingly delighted with my agony.

When my voice turned into trembling moans, he stopped, and whispered, “Oh, poor Apollo. Unused to such touches. You may move now. You’re free to do as you wish till I say otherwise.”

I was breathing hard, teeth nearly chattering, and pulled away, staring into his eyes. The deep blue seemed almost a black as he came down from his natural high, and it was dark, the light cast by the braziers dying out. I saw nothing there. Not light, not mercy. And certainly not someone like me. Not the sun, not day.

I saw dark.

I saw night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Immortality_
> 
> _Yeah, come back to me, baby!_
> 
> _Whoo! Suck it, mortals_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this little story. I really had fun with it, but I do have other writing projects I have to get back to. Please let me know what you think! Even just a heart, smiley face, or thumbs up is welcome.

**I SLEPT BESIDE COMMODUS,** our naked bodies together, and I found myself twirling my master’s hair. (What? It’s nice.)

Sure, he’d… done that thing to me, but I was his slave. This would get me my immortality back. Besides, he was so beautiful, and there was something about him, a power that I wanted to challenge. Despite the sculpture-like mortal I lay beside I fell asleep, troubled.

I awoke with a bit of a problem: I wanted Commodus, and I wanted him _badly_. He was shifting, seeming to be waking up, and he rolled onto his side, facing me.

I didn’t say anything, just studied him.

There was no power in him like this, no edge or brutality as I had seen last night, though unfortunately, there were bruises and welts that I could see on his skin. (Oops.) I reached out my hand, touching it to his forehead before running it along down to his cheek, healing him. The signs of my touch faded. My body had such signs as well, but the problem with that was... I could not heal myself.

My powers did not affect me.

One of the curses of being a god.

I had all these amazing gifts, and sometimes there were people to share them with, but I couldn’t taste them myself. They were useful to me, but never quite _for_ me.

“Apollo,” Commodus murmured, a smile gracing his lips. “You’re awake.”

“So are you.”

“You healed me.”

“I was rough with you last night.”

“I ordered you to be,” he told me. His eyes opened, and though he was sleepy I could already see an energy there, which made sense, he was a warrior, trained to be alert upon awaking. “Though, I have different ideas this morning.”

“Oh? Do you?”

He bit my ear, voice a needy hiss as he inhaled. “Get on your stomach.”

I had to listen.

I wanted him, I surely thought, but this wasn’t quite how I wanted things to go, but I had no choice.

“Lie still. You will love this.”

Furs were pulled off of me, oil applied reverently to my body. I felt myself having to love it. There wasn’t a part of me that didn’t enjoy it as he touched me, and penetrated me with his thick fingers, as his other hand ran over my backside, squeezing, and caressing, as he massaged my back, my thighs. All my willpower had faded into the background, leaving me as a very small, helpless being while Commodus was temporarily the master of the light. I was truly enslaved to him, and I didn’t care.

I loved it.

The princeps was good to me.

He found that bundle of nerves within me, and I tried to move, to arch back into him, whimpering. I was so hard, so full of arousal I thought I was going to burst.

“Fine. On all fours now,” Commodus instructed.

I gratefully did so, and his mouth was on me. I moaned, joyous that my master was so kind.

“C-Commodus,” I whimpered out.

“Yes, dear heart?”

He scissored his fingers within me, making me tremble, and then plunged them deeper, crooking them downwards. My legs shook, bright white pleasure arcing up towards my cock, causing it to leak precum.

“Feels good.”

“Wonderful.”

Oh, he taught me the importance of foreplay. (Why did we gods skip it when with each other? Yes, I know some of us are related. No, I don’t fuck my siblings.)

I was a moaning mess by the time Commodus entered me with his thick, wanting cock, and _oh_ , he knew how to move his hips. He was good at this, so very good.

Of course I’d had other men inside me before, so this was nothing new, but the voracious way he went at me was, as if this young man was my opposite. Where I would have been tender, he was rough, grabbing onto my hips hard. Where I would have moaned and praised, he growled, and snarled more orders, for me to lean the upper half of my body down, to tighten myself around him, to cry his name. Where I would have kissed and sucked, he bit. Where I would have pleasured, he hurt.

And I had no choice but to love it.

I did love it, genuinely, and truly loved it, as my orders demanded of me.

I was crying out for him, pushing back against him, pleasure infused into every cell in my body, and this time I did reach my end first because he commanded it to be.

My cheeks burned from shame as I finished on one of the furs, and still he went at me, all of me hurting, and he held me down, an arm around my neck as if he was attacking me rather than attempting to make love.

The dark was attacking the light.

Commodus playing one of his games.

When he finished I was released from my orders, and I had no idea what I was feeling.

I didn’t want to speak, so I began to sing, a happy tune to perhaps lighten the tension within the tent.

A few bars in, and…

“Silence.”

My mouth clamped shut. Tears built up in my eyes.

“No singing. Not right now. But you may speak.”

“Commodus?”

He kissed me, deeply, and I found myself not wanting him at the moment, but I kissed back.

“How long till you’re no longer mine?”

“A few days, perhaps,” I answered.

“Then it is too bad we are in this dreary camp and not in the palace. I would show you wonders, great, bloody spectacles, and slavegirls beautiful beyond measure.”

“I have no need for slavegirls.”

“What about animals then. Lions? Do you like lions?”

“They’re alright.”

“Alright? Dear one, they’re beautiful, magnificent creatures. So graceful, so majestic, so _powerful_.”

“Do you own a lion?”

“I have three.”

“Perhaps you’ll have to show me one sometime. I’ll visit.”

I don’t know why I promised that I’d visit, but I was still taken with him. I wasn’t particularly disturbed by him. Really, I was reminded of the times that the Hunters of Artemis set traps around their bodies when I tried to sleep with them. Not, _sleep_ sleep with them (don’t judge me so harshly), but just spend the night. It reminded me of Britomartis running from me. It was all in good fun, right?

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Was I like this man, too?

Did I take power?

Did I aim to violate just for the thrill of it?

But I was light.

The princeps was not, which was what intrigued me so much.

Perhaps we were alike, even as we were different. Day and night intertwined.

The day passed in a blur of orders, with me at Commodus’ side. The next day was much the same, and the day after that, and I began to yearn for my immortality. I was not bored, I would say. No, not that. But I was tired. I wanted to sing. I wanted my bow. I missed the red horses that drew my sun chariot.

When would my father decide that enough was enough?

My mortal body was tired, and grew aroused from the very touch of the princeps. All he had to do was run a finger along my shoulders and I was kissing him, and he was dragging me into his tent, tugging my clothes off.

He did end up using my mouth for more than just having me speak poetry, and I realized that when not as godly as I had been that the task of sucking someone off was actually rather challenging, but I’d managed.

By the time it was day five, the sun rising in the east, I sat outside what had become our tent, watching the pale gray filtering into a light pink, and orange. The orange looked like flames across the sky, turning to blood-red in the clouds off to the north.

I wanted to go back to Commodus, wanted to be with him and his warmth, and his strong, beating heart. But I liked to watch the sun.

A guard passed me by, and I nodded at him. He offered me the same courtesy.

I was well-known by now in the camp. The man who claimed to be Apollo, the princeps’ current favorite slave. I think some of the other men wanted a turn with me, but it was forbidden. The penalty was losing a hand, and then, as Commodus had phrased it, “whatever puny excuse they have for a prick.”

I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that, and no one else did either apparently.

The tent flaps rustled, and a familiar presence came to join me, filling me up with anxious delight. Commodus sat down beside me.

“Do you miss it?” he asked. “Riding the sun across the sky?”

“Very much so.”

“When your father calls you back, I don’t want you to go.”

“I have to,” I told him, turning to the young man. “It’s the only way I can have my immortality restored.”

He cupped my cheek in his hand, drawing my closer, pressing his forehead to mine. I leaned into it; he was so familiar to me now.

“Can another be granted immortality?” he asked.

I tried to draw away, sensing the warning signs in this conversation, but he kept me close, and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth.

“How does one become a god? I want to be with you, not let you go.”

I said nothing. Zeus could make him a god, or Jupiter, but the longer I spent with him, the more of his tendencies I saw, the more I realized he wasn’t quite perfect. He looked as though he was, but he was no hero. He was no monster either. He was a princeps who hated his virtuous father, and wanted the world to offer him a bloody show, and at times I liked to comply.

“I was born like this, my love,” I told him, being honest and avoiding his question.

“Is there no other way? Tell the truth.”

“It takes power, worship, faith, and sometimes, Zeus can grant it. It takes the right conditions. It’s nearly impossible. Zeus had made minor gods before, but, my dear Commodus, what would you be the god of?”

“Entertainment.”

“We already have Dionysus.”

“Bloodlust.”

“Hades on Saturdays.”

“Sex.”

“Aphrodite.”

“Legions?”

“Ares.”

He gave up, leaning his head against me.

“I could be a god-princeps, nothing more. I shall be a god over myself, and rule beside you, have you with me. We could ride the sky together.”

“You dream too big, Commodus.”

That was the first and only time he smacked me. The strike drew blood from my cheek. Afterwards he ordered me to silence until noon, and he aided in that by fucking my mouth and making me love it, saying gods could be tamed with a little bit of punishment.

It was perfect. I really did love it.

My thoughts cleared after noon, and I found my body wanting him once more, but I was lounging on his couch, biting my finger, trying not to whimper, as he went over scrolls given to him by one of his centurions. His muscular back was to me, and it looked excellent, shining in the glow of the braziers, oiled, and smelling of roses from the bath he’d had earlier.

There was a tugging in my chest, but not for him. Towards the sky, and I shifted my legs, anxious.

It was nearly time.

A few more commands and I would be free to leave. A few more commands and I would be immortal once more.

“Commodus, why don’t you take a break? You’ve been working so hard.”

“Can’t. Barbarians are going to attack from the south unless we bolster our defenses and scare them off.”

“Why don’t you lead a charge, and attack first? Surely you want to get out there and give your sword a taste of blood.”

He turned, raising one eyebrow at me. “Bad battle tactics,” he explained. “But, that would be more fun. You may have just solved my problem.”

“And what problem was that?”

“I’ve been sitting here staring at this scroll thinking about you instead of paying attention.”

A rumbling noise emitted from his chest, and he came over to me. I laughed, letting him join me on the couch, and we were embracing each other. There wasn’t room for both of us, and we fell off, rolling towards the pillows, kissing.

“Commodus… before… before we get… started… I… _mm!_... I want you to know that… I’ll be going soon.”

He stopped kissing me at that, shock written all over his face, and he frowned.

“I order you not to.”

“That won’t work in an hour or so. You see, I’ll be free from our bond. I’ll be immortal again. I can feel it. I’ll be called back to Olympus.”

It seemed as if all rational thought left him, and he put his hands around my neck, strangling me. I didn’t panic, letting him do it, knowing he wasn’t serious about it.

“Let me ride you,” he snarled. “I will feel your cock in me one last time before I go. You’re mine, and you will remember it.” He released me, undressing me, playing with my nipples much too roughly, making me cry out. “Swear on the River Styx you will remember it.”

The words tumbled from my mouth, “I swear on the River Styx I will remember I’m yours.”

A deep groan left him, and then he was undoing what he could of his clothes. “Prepare me,” he said.

I grabbed the oil, and I did so.

He made me be rough about it, and in no time at all, he was sliding onto me, holding onto my wrists, keeping them up by my head. The pace he set was brutal, and I was nearly whining, head thrown back, gritting my teeth. My face and chest were red, sweat beading on my body, nipples hard, and the fire consuming my cock was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Commodus moved with a fury, as if he hated me for having to go. He was careful about telling me what to do, but used my body to his heart’s content, rolling his hips, rocking back and forth, bouncing on me, until he was cumming, white streaking across my stomach.

I was commanded to reach down with my hand, and then suck it from my fingers. I did so. (And his cum wasn’t so bad. Believe me, I’d had worse things in my mouth. Never try any of Circe’s tea.)

Commodus rolled off of me, content, sweating, breathing hard, watching me intently. He pumped me as I swallowed his seed.

“Come back to me afterwards.”

Zeus decided that was a good time to zap me back to Olympus. (Thanks, Dad, I wasn’t in the middle of sex or anything. No, no, go right ahead. I’ll just hide my incredibly uncomfortable and awkward boner. Oh, this white stuff? It’s uh… cloud goo?)

I was in the throne room, no longer lying beside Commodus, and Zeus sat in his throne. I hurriedly hid myself, looking around to see if any of the other gods or goddesses were present. It was only us. (Thank the gods, or maybe not, seeing as Zeus was at fault for the slight pain I was now experiencing.)

“Apollo, I see you served your time as a slave.”

My already red cheeks reddened even more.

“Um… yes,” I answered, voice low and gravelly. I tried to correct it, speaking higher. “Yes, I did. I learned my lesson.”

“And how is the emperor to be?”

“Slightly terrifying.”

“Then he will not be granted godhood. He has failed his test.”

“What?” I exclaimed, not caring about the mess I was anymore, and throwing up my hands. “This was a _test?_ ”

“Of course. We’ve had our eye on him for awhile, and we needed to see if he was worth our time and energy, but he will not be made into a minor god based on your word, and our observations.”

I nearly collapsed to the floor, my knees shaking. (And my knees never shook, thank you very much.)

Commodus. A test.

I’d been enslaved for a test.

“ _Give me my immortality back._ ”

“There’s no need to get angry.”

I walked over to him, and bowed before him, knowing he needed my supplication, and to place his hands on my head.

“Do it. _Now._ ”

My father heaved out a great sigh, the sky trembling, lightning striking outside the golden hall, and he placed his hands on my head. Golden energy shot through me, electrifying me, making me feel truly alive, and like me again.

I left the throne room without saying a word.

And I didn’t go back to Commodus.

I went to ride my sun chariot, and I sang of my enslavement, weeping.

I was not a piece in my father’s games, or Commodus’ games.

I was the light, the day, and for now I pushed back the night. But night would fall, and I would have to hold by my oath. I belonged to Commodus.


End file.
